the spirit of christmas
Call me sentimental, if you will, but I like a good Christmas story as much as the next man. I was in the line at the supermarket tonight and I heard the next man in line tell a Christmas story to the man next to him. I can’t vouch for it being true, but let me relate it to you, dear reader, as it was overheard by me. Here is what the guy said.
It was a few days before Christmas last year and he was carrying out some routine shopping. He was just not in the Christmas spirit—just going through the motions. Where was the feeling of wanting to be with the ones he loved? Why was it necessary to go to the local super center and fight the crowds? Why didn’t they ever have the things on the top of his shopping list? Why was it necessary to go almost to the bottom of the list before he found some of the things he was looking for? Where had the Christmas feeling gone?
Anyway, he found some of the items on his list and pushed his way through the crowds up to the checkout line. The line stretched out and he had to wait quite a while before he got close to the checkout counter. There was only one more person in line in front of him, but there were a bunch of frustrated-looked people in the line behind him. He looked down and noticed the little kid in front of him had only one item—a necklace. This shouldn’t take long, he thought. I may get out of here before the store closes, after all. Unfortunately, there was a catch. The kid didn’t have enough money for the necklace.
“That’ll be $39.95 with tax,” said the clerk.
“But this is the one in the sale paper for $10.99,” said the boy, with some tinge of despair in his voice. He picked up the circular and pointed to a necklace pictured with the $10.99 price next to it.
“I’m sorry, son,” said the clerk. “That is not the one you have, here. This one is $39.95.”
The boy shot a panicked look at the man behind him in line.
“But this necklace will look so perfect around my mother’s neck when they put her in her casket,” he said.
The first thing the man thought about was that awful fucking “Christmas Shoes” song and he thought about kicking the shit out of the little cocksucker. However, when the boy looked up at him, with tears forming in his little eyes, the guy figured he better not resort to violence.
There was a problem, though. That was the Christmas of 2005. Who still carries cash around with them? Well, maybe some people still did, but the man didn’t have a dollar in his wallet. He was going to pay with plastic. He sure wasn’t going to give the little urchin his credit card, so he was kind of fucked.
The little boy figured out really quick that the man behind him in line was going to be no help, so he looked deeper into the line. The next person was an elderly lady, and granny was already going for her purse. Almost instinctively, though, the child knew he had to say the right thing to seal the deal, so he addressed the old lady.
“I want my mommy to look her best when she talks to God, tonight,” he said. “That necklace will look good on her and God will like it a lot.”
Shit, the old crone was counting out some bills and the guy behind her had his wallet open. The girl in line behind him looked to be in her early twenties and she didn’t look like she had much money to spare, but her purse was open and she was looking inside.
Apparently, the little boy wasn’t sure he was going to be able to accumulate enough capital to complete his transaction, so he went to the well one more time, just to cinch the deal.
“I’ve been going without lunch for two weeks now—saving my lunch money to buy this,” he said. “I’m sure hungry, but I can go without if it will make my mommy pretty and make God happy.”
That was enough to get the deal done. The people in line came up with enough money to pay for the necklace with a couple of extra dollars to spare. The little boy negotiated his purchase, picked up his change and his receipt and looked back at the people in line.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. He was sincere. “My mommy will always have this, even when they put her in the ground and when she touches the face of God.”
At that point, the guy was starting to feel a bit guilty—okay, he was feeling a lot guilty. As he swiped his credit card to pay for his purchases, he saw the old lady pull the young boy aside. The man heard her tell the boy to get something to eat and she slipped him a twenty-dollar bill.
“God bless you,” the little boy said to the granny.
As the man left the counter from making his purchase, he made eye contact with granny and he could see in her expression that the little boy had put the spirit of Christmas in the old woman. After all, the spirit of Christmas is giving, and the miracle of the season is not in the presents one receives, it is in the good one can do and the good will one can express to his fellow man. In a convoluted sort of way, the little boy had given the elderly woman the greatest gift one could give. Sometimes the clarity of truth can come from the mouths of babes. Much as the gifts of the Magi given to the infant son of God were truly fine gifts, the gift given by the old woman to the boy and the boy to the old woman were the finest gifts of all.
At that moment, it became clear to the man what he needed to do. He quickly circumnavigated the terrain of the store with his glance and found the ATM machine by the door. He moved to it as quickly as he could and in the time it took to swipe his card, input his pin number and type in an amount, he had forty dollars in his hand, and he quickly located the little boy moving through the store and was immediately in pursuit. He had some distance to make up but he knew he could do it. The boy cut in line at the customer service counter, and the man stood back, waiting for him to complete his transaction. Was he going to use the extra twenty the old woman had given him to have his gift wrapped with the colorful paper and a fancy bow? The man moved slowly into earshot just so he could hear the young boy’s sweet, innocent voice.
“Not you, again?” intoned the porcine clerk behind the counter.
“Yeah,” said the little boy. “Here’s my receipt.”
“You can’t keep buying stuff, and then bringing it back here for exchange,” said the clerk. “I have to call my manager.”
“Suck it, cunt,” said the little boy. “I gotta receipt. I paid cash. I want a refund. Call your fuckin’ manager. I don’t give a fuck. You’ll just keep all your customers in line and pissed off at you if you call that prick up here.”
The clerk capitulated and counted out some bills and laid them on the counter. The boy picked them up and left the store. The man followed him out the door and followed him down the street. Perhaps, thought the man, the boy was going to use the money for a fine dress for his dying mother; perhaps for food for his family. The man was still ready and willing to contribute to the cause.
The boy reached a street corner where two whores were standing, trying to attract passing motorists. The boy walked up to the white whore—the taller of the two. The whore had a massive rack and she stood a good foot taller than the boy.
“What do you want, little man?” asked the whore.
“I want you to pull off your shirt and flop out them two big motherfuckers and I want you and me to play mommy and little baby for a while, and then I want you to suck me dry.”
“You talk big for such a little man.”
“Don’t fuck with me whore. I’m big where it counts.”
“Come back when you grow up, son.”
“There’s enough down there to choke you, whore.”
“Show me da money, son.”
The boy displayed his roll, pulled off two twenties and rubbed them together.
“Will this get me up close and personal with those two big things hangin’ off your chest and some quality time in your mouth?”
The whore took the twenties, put them down inside her pants and motioned to an alley behind a liquor store on the corner.
“Step into my office, son,” she said. “This is where the little boys go in and come back out men.”
The man watched the little boy and the whore disappear into the alley to the sound of Christmas carols being piped through a tinny steel outdoor speaker outside the liquor store.
That night, as he lay in bed, just before he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the little boy and the old woman and the gifts of the Magi. But the last thing he thought about was that hooker’s rack. It was pretty impressive.
Well, there is my story. I hope you were inspired by it as much as I was. This time of year makes us think about things in a different light.
Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.
It was a few days before Christmas last year and he was carrying out some routine shopping. He was just not in the Christmas spirit—just going through the motions. Where was the feeling of wanting to be with the ones he loved? Why was it necessary to go to the local super center and fight the crowds? Why didn’t they ever have the things on the top of his shopping list? Why was it necessary to go almost to the bottom of the list before he found some of the things he was looking for? Where had the Christmas feeling gone?
Anyway, he found some of the items on his list and pushed his way through the crowds up to the checkout line. The line stretched out and he had to wait quite a while before he got close to the checkout counter. There was only one more person in line in front of him, but there were a bunch of frustrated-looked people in the line behind him. He looked down and noticed the little kid in front of him had only one item—a necklace. This shouldn’t take long, he thought. I may get out of here before the store closes, after all. Unfortunately, there was a catch. The kid didn’t have enough money for the necklace.
“That’ll be $39.95 with tax,” said the clerk.
“But this is the one in the sale paper for $10.99,” said the boy, with some tinge of despair in his voice. He picked up the circular and pointed to a necklace pictured with the $10.99 price next to it.
“I’m sorry, son,” said the clerk. “That is not the one you have, here. This one is $39.95.”
The boy shot a panicked look at the man behind him in line.
“But this necklace will look so perfect around my mother’s neck when they put her in her casket,” he said.
The first thing the man thought about was that awful fucking “Christmas Shoes” song and he thought about kicking the shit out of the little cocksucker. However, when the boy looked up at him, with tears forming in his little eyes, the guy figured he better not resort to violence.
There was a problem, though. That was the Christmas of 2005. Who still carries cash around with them? Well, maybe some people still did, but the man didn’t have a dollar in his wallet. He was going to pay with plastic. He sure wasn’t going to give the little urchin his credit card, so he was kind of fucked.
The little boy figured out really quick that the man behind him in line was going to be no help, so he looked deeper into the line. The next person was an elderly lady, and granny was already going for her purse. Almost instinctively, though, the child knew he had to say the right thing to seal the deal, so he addressed the old lady.
“I want my mommy to look her best when she talks to God, tonight,” he said. “That necklace will look good on her and God will like it a lot.”
Shit, the old crone was counting out some bills and the guy behind her had his wallet open. The girl in line behind him looked to be in her early twenties and she didn’t look like she had much money to spare, but her purse was open and she was looking inside.
Apparently, the little boy wasn’t sure he was going to be able to accumulate enough capital to complete his transaction, so he went to the well one more time, just to cinch the deal.
“I’ve been going without lunch for two weeks now—saving my lunch money to buy this,” he said. “I’m sure hungry, but I can go without if it will make my mommy pretty and make God happy.”
That was enough to get the deal done. The people in line came up with enough money to pay for the necklace with a couple of extra dollars to spare. The little boy negotiated his purchase, picked up his change and his receipt and looked back at the people in line.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. He was sincere. “My mommy will always have this, even when they put her in the ground and when she touches the face of God.”
At that point, the guy was starting to feel a bit guilty—okay, he was feeling a lot guilty. As he swiped his credit card to pay for his purchases, he saw the old lady pull the young boy aside. The man heard her tell the boy to get something to eat and she slipped him a twenty-dollar bill.
“God bless you,” the little boy said to the granny.
As the man left the counter from making his purchase, he made eye contact with granny and he could see in her expression that the little boy had put the spirit of Christmas in the old woman. After all, the spirit of Christmas is giving, and the miracle of the season is not in the presents one receives, it is in the good one can do and the good will one can express to his fellow man. In a convoluted sort of way, the little boy had given the elderly woman the greatest gift one could give. Sometimes the clarity of truth can come from the mouths of babes. Much as the gifts of the Magi given to the infant son of God were truly fine gifts, the gift given by the old woman to the boy and the boy to the old woman were the finest gifts of all.
At that moment, it became clear to the man what he needed to do. He quickly circumnavigated the terrain of the store with his glance and found the ATM machine by the door. He moved to it as quickly as he could and in the time it took to swipe his card, input his pin number and type in an amount, he had forty dollars in his hand, and he quickly located the little boy moving through the store and was immediately in pursuit. He had some distance to make up but he knew he could do it. The boy cut in line at the customer service counter, and the man stood back, waiting for him to complete his transaction. Was he going to use the extra twenty the old woman had given him to have his gift wrapped with the colorful paper and a fancy bow? The man moved slowly into earshot just so he could hear the young boy’s sweet, innocent voice.
“Not you, again?” intoned the porcine clerk behind the counter.
“Yeah,” said the little boy. “Here’s my receipt.”
“You can’t keep buying stuff, and then bringing it back here for exchange,” said the clerk. “I have to call my manager.”
“Suck it, cunt,” said the little boy. “I gotta receipt. I paid cash. I want a refund. Call your fuckin’ manager. I don’t give a fuck. You’ll just keep all your customers in line and pissed off at you if you call that prick up here.”
The clerk capitulated and counted out some bills and laid them on the counter. The boy picked them up and left the store. The man followed him out the door and followed him down the street. Perhaps, thought the man, the boy was going to use the money for a fine dress for his dying mother; perhaps for food for his family. The man was still ready and willing to contribute to the cause.
The boy reached a street corner where two whores were standing, trying to attract passing motorists. The boy walked up to the white whore—the taller of the two. The whore had a massive rack and she stood a good foot taller than the boy.
“What do you want, little man?” asked the whore.
“I want you to pull off your shirt and flop out them two big motherfuckers and I want you and me to play mommy and little baby for a while, and then I want you to suck me dry.”
“You talk big for such a little man.”
“Don’t fuck with me whore. I’m big where it counts.”
“Come back when you grow up, son.”
“There’s enough down there to choke you, whore.”
“Show me da money, son.”
The boy displayed his roll, pulled off two twenties and rubbed them together.
“Will this get me up close and personal with those two big things hangin’ off your chest and some quality time in your mouth?”
The whore took the twenties, put them down inside her pants and motioned to an alley behind a liquor store on the corner.
“Step into my office, son,” she said. “This is where the little boys go in and come back out men.”
The man watched the little boy and the whore disappear into the alley to the sound of Christmas carols being piped through a tinny steel outdoor speaker outside the liquor store.
That night, as he lay in bed, just before he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the little boy and the old woman and the gifts of the Magi. But the last thing he thought about was that hooker’s rack. It was pretty impressive.
Well, there is my story. I hope you were inspired by it as much as I was. This time of year makes us think about things in a different light.
Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.
posted by dick clinch at 10:18 PM
7 Comments:
Damn, I'm all teared up. Excuse me, I need to wipe my eyes. I'm touched, truly touched (and so are you!) LOL BIG HUGS, Steph
What state are you in?
A state of confusion.
A state of shock.
A state of cardiac arrest.
Oh, you mean where do I live?
Kansas.
One of the top fifty states in which to live.
In the immortal words of Nathan Degraaf:
"God, you're weird."
Please, Thena, do not deify me.
I am just a man.
An unusual man, perhaps, but just a man.
How in the hell did I only now find your blog? I finally thought, "Hmmmm, let's click on Dick's link and see what happens." Thus I did. Thus, I am now enlightened.
:)
That is truly inspiring. And i think i saw that rack somewhere on the internet? Funny. Here's mine for a mostly music break......A Trip of Clicks. Thanks again, mike
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